camerapeintura
Method
I always paint
from photographs. More and more often my preference goes out to photographs
taken by others. But I still make a lot of photographs (usually with a digital
camera), often using a macro lens. Sometimes I take photographs of things that
I decide on beforehand, knowing they may produce an interesting image. Or
images are caught by my eye while I happen to be carrying a camera. Most of the
time, however, I focus on things in my (near) surroundings that I have seen
many times before. They are then 'revealed' to me at an unexpected time in a
certain form, allowing me to see something I have never seen before. I
sometimes only have a notion of what I could see if they were to present
themselves in their true form, which is then still veiled by minor details or
too serious a context. I must be able to see the object concerned free from its
original context in order to get trough to its true nature. Isolating the
subject matter from its original environment, taking photographs in extreme close-up,
and creating a new context within the collection of other photographs,
attribute to seeing the well known in a new way.
My sketchbook is
made up of images and photographs that I either took myself or cut out of
magazines. These images all intrigue me, for what ever reason. And just like
sketches, they seldom become more than that.
Those photographs
that do, I collect on my computer and browse frequently. In most cases I then
digitally edit the images: colour, contrast and framing. In some cases I apply
more extensive manipulations.
I surround myself
with these images by pinning them on the walls of my studio. Initially the
photographs are randomly clustered. After some time they start living a life of
their own. Some disappear in the bin pretty soon, and some become part of the
interior because I get accustomed to them. Others I relocate frequently, which
often leads to unexpected combinations with other photographs. This allows me
to see them in a new perspective. Although at first the motive for the
photograph was the subject; in this stage it is the photograph that is the motive
for a possible painting. At this point the photograph should surprise me. However
this is usually not the case. The photographs that do, I project and enlarge on
the wall or on canvas, one by one. I usually decide on the size of the canvas
when I already have an idea of what I want to make. When I start projecting the
selection of photographs, I have already set up the canvas stretcher. At this
time I have not yet decided which photograph I will use for the canvas. This
may, therefore, differ from the idea on which I based the size of the canvas.
Because of the detail, the differences in focus and the projected size, I am able
to see the photograph for the first time again, as it were. By now the image is
very far removed from the original object. If it then surprises me again, it
becomes a candidate for a possible painting. I usually browse until I have made
a selection of photographs, out of which I then make a new choice. If I decide
to use a certain photograph in the end, after having looked at photographs for
a very long time, I usually need at least half a day in order to decide on the
scale, framing and composition. I use an opaque projector to draw the image on the canvas (which
since 2001 is generally polyester) with a pencil; and then the painting can
begin.
The painting is
made up out of several layers. First I fix the drawing with transparent paint
in a neutral colour and middle tone. Then I apply the large colour areas; again
using transparent paint and a middle tone. I
work on the darker and lighter parts alternately; in transparent layers.
Depending on the complexity and size of the painting this may take up to 5
weeks to complete. With every layer more details are applied. Most colour
schemes are not prepared on a palette, but are realized through optical
blending of the different layers.
In the final phase
I work out the darkest parts and enhance the whites. The last two days I
generally spend using just a fine brush of marter hair, and only pure white on
my palette.
strawberry cake (detail), 2004,
100x100cm, acrylic paint on polyester
At first I copy the
photograph accurately; later on, however, I tend to adapt both the colour and
contrast, and sometimes the form and composition in order to enhance the
intended effect. My aim is to provide the painting with a photographic quality.
In order to do so, I use typically photographic elements, like focus &
depth, over- & under exposure and chromatic dispersion. Every detail
receives ample treatment as I scan the image like a scanner or photocopier that
traces the original inch by inch, non hierarchically. I try to translate the
photographic image to paint as mechanically as possible. I never use the whole
photograph, but select a framing, which, combined with the features mentioned
above, determines the attention points in the painting.
I paint with acrylic
paint (ARA), because it dries quickly, and it results in a 'dry', plastic-like
skin of paint, which I think looks superb. Compared to oil paint it has a much
better colour division, and it allows working both transparently
as well as opaque, during every stage of the painting. Furthermore it is very
pleasant material to work with; it does not contain any chemical additives, and
is odour free. A wide range of media is available for specific purposes or
circumstances, when needed. I prefer to use water to dilute the paint; I only
use media for layers that hardly contain any pigments. (Lasceaux Medium
Eggshell).
My tools include
paintbrushes (with synthetic hair), an airbrush (occasionally), and I use my
fingers. Sometimes I varnish a painting (using Lasceaux Medium Eggshell), for
an even gloss as well as for protection, when the top layers are very fragile.
My aim is to
create a surface without any relief and a practically invisible stroke. The
attention should go out to the image; not to the paint.
The titles of my
paintings are usually derived from the image. Everything I want to say about my
work is captured in the image; I generally do not find it necessary to add any language.
Writing or talking about the work is completely different, as the language is then
not a part of the work itself. A too poetic or literary title would actually
become a part of it. It would play too large a role as
it would shape both the meaning and the interpretation. This I do not want,
because I am convinced that when concerning my work, this would only deprive
the image. The titles I choose actually limit the interpretation scope.
Motive
That what I want to show is
already familiar to most people, but it is something one has never been
triggered to look at. It is often so familiar, that it is overlooked very
easily. I want to visualize the itch that you just cannot reach. Seeing the itch
makes it even itchier. I try to show the naked object; stripped of the
denotation of its context; not making the object more beautiful or uglier, more
exciting, more repulsive or sensual than it actually is. The beauty and
sensuality are already present, and only have to be revealed. I do not have to
add them; I merely emphasize them.
My strongest motive is formed
by desire. Every time I paint, I do this out of a desire for an image which, at
that point, I only have a faint idea of. I want to make something that I have
always considered to be ordinary, special. I sometimes succeed. Often
this desire has an erotic connotation, but it always has a sensual one. However,
in contrast to the sexual desire, for instance, the sensual desire is never
satisfied. The objective that results from this desire is achieved, but the
desire remains. A good painting only makes this desire even greater. This is
what motivates me. The manner in which I respond to this is determined by all
sorts of considerations and decisions: the choice of material, the technique and
the subject; they all form the scope for my objectives.
But without this desire, the
pursuit of any artistic goal would be a vain and meaningless waste of time.
Photography
Photography plays a large
part in my work. Every painting I make starts off with a photograph. That is
why it is important to explain what photography means to me.
I use photographs as an aid,
in order to register that what I see as objectively as possible. Photography is
a means of registration that can accurately and uncritically reproduce a part
of reality, like no other. It can demonstrate an object in such a way that it
is recognizable to everyone, at a certain moment, under certain conditions. A
photograph is, however, always limited by the moment in time and location
during registration. Therefore it can not be removed from this context, and hence
asks for recognition in the first place: What, Where, When and Who. The
spectator will be inclined to answer these questions first. A painting of this
same photograph only refers to the moment of registration indirectly, so here
these questions are hardly relevant. Normally looking at something is done
purposefully: one attributes a function to that what can be seen, which may
then be tuned to possible actions. During this process, meaning is given to
that what can be seen. Because a painting of a photograph of a particular object
is so far apart from the original context of that object, this process of function determination and
putting on meanings becomes disturbed, which results in uncertainty. This
challenges the spectator to look more closely; to form 'new' meanings. Meanings
that might not seem obvious at first.
Photography and painting are
united in my work in, what I call, the 'Camera Peintura'. I believe that this
method (of painting a copy of a photograph as accurately as possible), is most
suitable for the ambition mentioned above. The main challenge that really fascinates
me is the translation of photographic information to painterly information.
This is the only thing I'm occupied with while I'm painting, and it
influences the painterly criteria I employ.
I want to show the world the
way I see it. I never do this by making an impression, which would be a
personal translation. If I would paint according to reality, I would be giving
an impression of what I believe I'm seeing. My observation of an object is
influenced by different circumstances, which always includes time. My
perspective, the lighting, the colour and sometimes even the physical quality
of an object change as the time needed for painting this object, goes by. Photography
allows capturing a moment in time. This is not entirely accurate of course, but
we can accept it as such; the time needed for exposure generally is negligible.
A photograph is a factual and objective registration of a particular object, at
a certain time. It presents a trustworthy and recognizable image of that what
we consider reality.
So what do I have then? A piece
of paper with images that contain information about an object that I may want
to paint. That's it. It is not an independent image yet; it always refers
to the moment of registration. This reference has consequences for the way
people look at a photograph. A photograph is seemingly authentic; it is a
certain kind of proof for knowing that someone or
something was somewhere at a certain time. A 'certificate of presence1' Obviously a photograph can never offer truthful
certainty. Photographs can be manipulated, and modern digital possibilities
seem unlimited. But the pretence of truth is enough, which will invite the
spectator to ask questions about the truthfulness of the photograph. Not the
image of the object, but the object itself (and its possible reflection) is
the subject to look at. The essence of photography
is reference&sup 2;.
All information I need for a
painting is present in the photograph, and this makes it the perfect model. Although
the painting looks like the photograph; it remains a painting. The painting may
seem an objective registration, but that is not what it is. It is a subjective
translation that took time to make. This also
plays a roll when the spectator sees the painting. A photograph is a moment in
time; a painting is not. The time it takes to make the painting, and the
consideration with which this is done, may result in the spectator experiencing
that concentration again, as it were. And that is why it takes more time to
look at. A photograph requires recognition for that what is depicted; it
reveals specific information about the captured object. A painting is different;
it refers to things in general. The image itself is specific, and therefore
requires special attention.
1 Roland Barthes, 'Camera Lucida', Hill
and Wang, New York, 1981; p. 81: -Every photograph is a certificate of
presence
2 Roland Barthes, 'Camera Lucida', Hill
and Wang, New York, 1981;
p. 76/77: ÒI call 'photographic referent'
not the optionally real thing to which an image or a sign refers but the
necessarily real thing which has been placed before the lens, without which there
would be no photograph, [...] And since this constraint exists only for
Photography, we must consider it, by reduction, as the very essence, the noeme
of Photography.Ó